


Give And Take

by grav_ity



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 12:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: or, "the one where they huddle together for warmth".





	Give And Take

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently my brain was not done with these two after writing fill-in scenes to mirror my own playthrough, and now I'm writing stories involving all of my favourite tropes because...why not?

Alistair felt his heart stop as he watched the ice crack under Kentha’s feet. She didn’t even have time to shout before she disappeared into the dark water. The darkspawn whose axe had shattered the ice went down with two of Leliana’s arrows in its chest, blackened blood mixing with melt water. Alistair lurched towards place where Kentha had been. He knew that in his heavy armour, he could do absolutely nothing to help her, but he couldn’t just watch.

“Alistair!” Leliana shouted, concerned he wouldn’t stop. She was rushing to his side, but she was in metal too, even if it was lighter mail than his.

He roared in frustration, and a blur of black and brown fur surged past him into the water. It was the hound, he realized, Kentha’s clever and courageous beast, who could go where his two-legged companions could not. Alistair held his breath.

After what felt like an eternity the hound surfaced, dragging Kentha by the chinstrap of her helmet. It was going to leave a bruise, but it wouldn’t impact her breathing too much, assuming the water hadn’t already taken care of that. Alistair forced such thoughts aside, and waded into the water with his arms held out to the dog. Together, they brought Kentha to shore, just as Leliana arrived from her shooting perch.

Kentha was soaked, freezing water running out of her leather armour. Her eyes opened and shut at random, but were glazed over. Her fingers clutched her sword and dagger so tightly, it was all Alistair could do to pry them out of her hands without hurting her. She was fighting, still, which could only be a good thing.

“She’s breathing,” Alistair reported. “But she’s not lucid.”

“Give me your sword,” Leliana said, and Alistair passed over the great blade along with his shield.

Leliana dropped them both on the ground as gracefully as she could manage, and looked at the buckles on his chest plate. Her gaze dropped to Kentha.

“I’ll be fine,” Alistair said.

There was no time for delicacy. Alistair heaved Kentha over his shoulder like she was a sack of flour, holding her knees to keep her from swinging too much. His pauldron must be digging into her belly, but there was nothing he could do about it. He felt Leliana’s hands behind him, arranging Kentha so she wouldn’t hit her head and whispering vague comforts to all of them and the Maker besides for all Alistair could tell.

“Then go,” Leliana said. “We’ll be behind you.”

Alistair set off through the forest brush towards the camp as fast as he dared. It was gloaming, and the forest floor was far from smooth. Dropping Kentha would get him nowhere. Still, he knew what frigid water could do, even for the short amount of time she’d been under, and the fact that she was unconscious was not reassuring.

How far had they come, before they found the stream? Past the sight of their fire, for certain. It hardly mattered in this weather, where they could melt snow for water, but when he and Kentha had sensed the Taint nearby, they’d left the others to settle in for the night while they investigated. The stream had seemed a blessing at first, even if they’d have to cut through to water. Of course, now it was nothing short of a disaster.

Alistair saw the pinprick of light that was their campfire and altered his course slightly. He paid attention to the ground and scanned for any low-hanging branches that might whip against Kentha, but focused on speed. At last, he broke into the small clearing.

“Wynne!” he shouted, catching the mage’s attention.

She must have been able to tell he was serious, because she came over with none of her usual repartee. He sat down as close to the fire as he could, Kentha now cradled in his arms, but it wasn’t enough. Her face was white as milk, and her lips were blue.

“Get her out of her armour,” Wynne said.

Several of the buckles were frozen, and Wynne had to melt them. Soon enough, Kentha was down to her linens, which were still soaked and started to freeze against her skin. Wynne bit her lip.

“Alistair,” she said, and her tone was just as serious as his had been. “I can’t use a warming spell on her. She must be heated up gradually, and I don’t have the finesse for that. If I warm her up, I might just make it worse.”

“What then?” Alistair asked.

“Take her into your tent, strip off the rest of her clothes, take off your armour, and get her under your bearskin.” Wynne said it quite clinically, and it took Alistair a moment to catch up.

“Wynne, I ca-can’t do that without permission,” he stuttered. The very idea of it repelled him, forcing someone into his bed who couldn’t give her assent. “Can’t Leliana?”

“You can and you must,” Wynne said. “It will save her life. Leliana is too small. Kentha needs a Warden’s heat.”

“All right,” Alistair said. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“She’s healing herself,” Wynne said. “Her body will wake up when she’s ready. Chest to chest, Alistair.”

Alistair struggled to his feet, shifting Kentha’s weight so he wouldn’t stumble. She said something unintelligible as he carried her towards his tent, but didn’t wake. Wynne held the flap open for him, and then when it closed, he felt her cast a warming spell on the hides. That made it warm enough inside the tent for Alistair to set Kentha down on top of his bearskin, and shed his armour faster than he ever had before. He took a deep breath, and pulled off the last of Kentha’s clothing, even her smalls. His hands shook and he tried to think of literally anything else. He would not let himself look.

When it was done, he rearranged Kentha so that she was under the bearskin with him, her head on his pillow, which was definitely something he had thought about before. Then he pulled her to his chest, nestling her head under his chin. His hands were on her back, running lines of heat up and down the cold column of her spine. She fought against his hold, until he relaxed a little bit. Then she sighed into his chest, and her breathing evened out.

Alistair bit his tongue. Outside the tent, he heard their companions settle in for the night, Sten talking to the hound and making sure the beast had dried off. Eventually, all sound and source of distraction ceased, and Alistair was still wide awake.

It was going to be a very long night.

++

Kentha breathed. In and out and in and out, while her skin warmed under his hands. Twice she shifted closer in her sleep, and twice he tried to position himself so that he was touching her as little as possible while also touching her as much as possible. And then, after what felt like an eternity, she took a sharp breath in and held it, and he knew she was awake. He stilled, waiting for her reaction. He was terrified and he didn’t know what to do.

“Alistair?” she said after a pause during which the world might have ended and he would not have noticed.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked in return. Maker, he hoped she did.

“Darkspawn,” she said. “And the river.”

“Your hound pulled you out, you were still holding your sword.” Alistair said the first words that came into his mind, praying they were the right ones. “I brought you back here. Wynne said—Wynne said to do this. She couldn’t warm you with magic because it would make you sick, and Leliana was too small and your dog was still wet, so I…I didn’t want to, Kentha, but it was the only way.”

“I understand.” Her voice sounded so small. She shifted away from him, and it struck him that she had yet to look at him since she woke up. “Thank you.”

Alistair didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even make a joke, and he could _always_ make a joke. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t take this very seriously, because he absolutely did.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

She couldn’t have moved more than a few inches back, but the loss of contact nearly burned him. He was being punished, that was the only explanation, for imagining her here, only to _get_ her here under unfortunate circumstances.

Abruptly, he realized she was shivering.

“Come here,” he said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as he could.

Kentha moved back against his chest, her face pressing into the linen of his shirt, and he put his arms around her again. Her shivering stilled after a moment. She felt like a coiled spring, and Alistair understood all too well.

He thought of their previous conversations. The rose, and his constant deflections when her response to his attentions became too much for him. He had been worried that she might misunderstand him, waking up naked in his bedroll as she had, but perhaps she understood him all too well. He had been the one to ask for time, for patience, and now here they were. And, Maker help him, he couldn’t regret it.

“When I said I didn’t want to, I meant that I didn’t want you to be unconscious,” Alistair said, trying to sound conversational about it. “Not that I didn’t want—”

“Oh,” Kentha said. Her hand ghosted up his side, coming to rest on his shoulder. It was simultaneously too much and nowhere _near_ enough.

“I should tell you,” he began, confession coming as second nature, “that I have thought of this. Not the river and you nearly freezing to death, of course, but the part where you’re here. Or I’m in your tent. Or we’re in a nice room at Redcliffe. Or we find a pretty little pond in a strangely empty forest and there are an unlikely number of butterflies—”

She surged forward, and pressed her mouth to his. This was not the polite kiss of thank-you-for-the-rose, or even the vaguely promissory kisses they had shared in private moments since then. This was, finally, finally, pure heat.

Alistair had no idea what to do and every idea what he wanted. He let himself fall into her, holding nothing back as her hands ran across his chest to his face and then into his hair. It was never going to be the perfect vision he’d conjured, but, oh, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Kentha rolled onto her back and pulled him with her. He tried to brace himself so he didn’t crush her, but it didn’t really seem like she was thinking about that. Instead, she pulled his shirt up, and he decided that was only fair, so he assisted. They were a tangle of arms and legs, a bizarre wrestling match he had no desire to win. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to run up a mountain. He never, ever wanted to stop kissing her. 

She undid the laces of his trews, and pushed them down. Her hand wrapped around him and he groaned against her collarbone. She laughed, a light sound he heard too rarely and wanted to hear forever, and let go, lacing her fingers with his. For a moment, it was skin and heat and the closeness of her, and then she took their joined hands between their bodies, and set his fingers between her thighs.

“Show me,” he said, lifting his face from the crook of her neck to look at her. This, he wanted to see.

Without looking away, Kentha guided his hand, showing him how she liked to be teased and stroked. When his touch became more confident, her hand moved to clutch at the bedroll. She arched beneath him, breath coming in gasps, and her eyes finally drifted closed.

“Alistair,” she said, and he had never loved his name as much as he did right then.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to watch her face. He wanted everything, and before he could pick, she bowed under his hands. A soundless cry in her mouth was too much, and he pressed his lips to hers again. She melted against him and his fingers worked every bit of pleasure from her until she was squirming under his weight.

Her hands found him again, pulling his hand away and reaching for his length. Now it was his turn to pull back and gasp, and she immediately stopped moving.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Alistair had never wanted anything so much, and now he was finally ready.

“I’m sure,” he said.

Sliding into her was better than he could have imagined. It was her and it was him and she was smiling and he was probably smiling too, except he couldn’t feel his own face. He could almost forget how cold they had been earlier in the heat of having her.

“Move,” she gasped, and, Maker, he was not going to last very long.

It didn’t seem that Kentha minded. Her ankles locked around his waist, drawing him in. Alistair struggled for rhythm, mindful of her bruises, until she dug her nails into his shoulders and hissed. There were so many things he didn’t know how to do, but as his hips snapped against hers and she met his every thrust, _she was still smiling at him_ and he thought he might get to learn.

Alistair came with a roar he managed to silence only at the very last moment, and collapsed on his elbow, his hands in Kentha’s hair and his face pressed against her shoulder. He lay there for only a moment, mindful of her beneath him, before he shifted to lie on his back. Kentha followed him, sprawling across his chest, her legs still twined with his. He was so glad he thought he might actually start glowing.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath still coming fast. Maker, he hoped she would let him do that a lot.

“Yes, Alistair,” Kentha said. “I am quite warmed up now.”

She sounded so prim when she said it that he couldn’t help laughing. It rumbled through him and she burrowed into his chest. He rearranged the bearskin, though honestly he felt almost too hot for it now, and waited while she made herself comfortable. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, felt her smile against his bare skin, and when he fell asleep, it was in knowing that she would still be there when he woke up.


End file.
